


Real

by gonattsaga



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonattsaga/pseuds/gonattsaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something has been gnawing on Krycek, and even though he doesn't want to hear the answer, the question slips out anyway. And of course Mulder answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Relief"

"What was it like?", the words have scratched their way out of my throat before I can stop them. They hang in the air, heavy, untouchable, echoing.

He doesn't ask for clarification. He doesn't grind his teeth. For a moment I imagine the air going out of him a bit, like he deflates, just a little, but then he sits up straighter and I dismiss the notion. Probably just a trick of the light. Or something.

He looks at me briefly. Not in the eye of course, but he glances at my face, my mouth, my Adam's apple, like he's reminding himself of something. Then he looks away. Swallows once, like he's making a deal with himself.

And then he speaks.

"It was perfect", like it's obvious, and I don't know, maybe it is.

Either way, I nod and take a swig from the vodka bottle. Catch his sharp glance and the flash of his worry lines before he smoothes them away with sheer will.

"Perfect", I echo.

"Yeah", he says and shrugs, obvious, whatever, man I must be dumb to even be bringing it up, kind of thing. I feel dumb, too.

"That was the point", he adds. "It was a dream."

"Perfect", I echo again.

I'm like a record. Not his favourite, but more like the first one he bought as a kid. And even though I'm scratched and he can't imagine what he was thinking getting me way back when, he keeps me around, at the bottom of the stack, because I hold some kind of sentimental value. Or he's just too lazy to throw me out.

A cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. I feel sucked into myself, like I'm watching the world around me from afar. His little sounds, the beer swirling through the bottle neck to his mouth and his jeans scratching against the leather as he shifts around on the sofa, his breathing, they're right there, next to me, on top of me, and yet they sound filtered.

I picture the scene; the house and the wife, a stock of sunflower seeds in fridge, a baby on the way, no truth to find, no nemesis to fuck and get fucked over by; Mulder's perfect life. Mulder living the dream. Mulder... Happy.

"I should go", I say. His worry lines are swimming before my eyes. He's looking straight at me, that can't be a good sign, he never looks straight at me unless he's really pissed off, or he thinks I'm dying. Maybe I am dying. About bloody time it would be too. I'm fucking tired.

"Hey, hey", he says, and catches me as I sway. "You alright?"

"I'm fine, Mulder. Get off."

"Alright", he mumbles and backs up the polite two and a half steps away from me and quickly looks away. The worry lines are still there though.

I take a few steps towards the door as the dizzy spell wears off. Head clear and body cold, I pause at the door, slightly annoyed that I still can't shake the mental picture of Mulder's paradise out of my mind.

"Krycek", he says, there's a hesitant tone to his voice, but it's not a question. It never is with Mulder, not when it comes to me. It's always been punch first and ask later, and even then he prefers making his own assumptions. It cracks me up sometimes, when it doesn't break my corrupted little heart. I need to get out of here.

"Krycek", he says again, with more determination this time, his Rat Bastard tone of voice, unless I'm mistaken. I let go of the door handle and turn around to face him again. And he just stares at me, like he can't believe I'm here, or rather he can't believe I'm not there, with him.

"Yes, Mulder."

"Where are you going?"

"You did not just ask me that..."

"Got another enemy's lair to scurry off to?"

"Yeah."

"I don't want to know."

"I know you don't."

And that's the crux, really. He doesn't want to know about my life, but he needs to know everything about me. I don't want to be anywhere he's not, but I have to leave. Not much more to say after you've both realized this. Not much to do. It's kind of like a fork in the road, only it's not, it's more like a dead end and we both know it, and that's what we don't want to face. So we sit down on the ground and rest our backs against the wall, side by side and stare down the road we've come on. If we squint we can see some of the hurdles along the way and maybe we won't judge ourselves too harshly for still being here, next to each other.

"It was all a dream, Alex", he says. There's regret in his voice, I want to punch him.

"So that's your dream life", I say. "You know you could have it. You could live like that. Instead of, well, this... you could have someone like her, a house, a kid. You could have all that."

"No, I couldn't", he says like it's obvious, and I don't know, maybe it is. He shrugs. I nod. He's squinting slightly, looking straight at me again, but he doesn't seem too pissed. It makes me feel less than comfortable. I don't know what he's thinking now. I don't know what move he's planning.

"Well, there are no truths left that I know and you don't, so you don't need me around anymore... that's a step in the right direction, right?"

"It was a dream", he says again, and this time there's no doubt he thinks I'm stupid. "Perfect, pristine, like a picture out of a catalogue..."

He's begun to advance on me, feline movements, mesmerizing gaze. I feel my limbs twitch. But I stay put. Half of me wants to bolts, or fight, or fuck. The other half wants to know where this is going.

"What's your point, Mulder?"

The next two words drop from his lips like a couple of fledgeling breaths:

"Not... real..."

I feel myself deflating, like all the tension in my body has been released, like a canvas taken off it's frame. And the bastard has the nerve to grin at me.

And then I'm pushed against the door, the handle pressing againt my lower back, hard. His hands on either side of my face, holding me in place, or reassuring me, or demonstrating, like he's proving a point; feel this, Krycek, this is real, this is real, we, are real; and his mouth is on mine, but for the first time ever it's not hard at all, and I for a moment I find myself amazed at how soft his lips are, and at the fact that in all these years I never noticed until now.

And the fucker is still grinning at me. So I bite his lower lip. A little. And he chuckles and deepens the kiss. I'd be lying if I said that wasn't my real motive, but I don't think he'd hold it against me, all things considering...

The End.


End file.
